‘There is no justice yet.’ Six months after Stephon Clark, Sacramento still seeks answers
On a street that has seen better days, neither noticed the aging brick and stucco home nor the new fence blocking off the backyard where officers apparently mistook Clark's cell phone for a gun and fired 20 rounds at him, hitting him at least seven times.
One barely knew who Clark was. The other did not.
Kevohn Carter, 14, had heard about the fatal shooting from his uncle, though he was slim on the details, he said. His friend, Demarzea Knowles, wasn't familiar with Clark's name at all.
"That's what my mom (is) talking about," said Knowles, standing on the cracked sidewalk, wearing a hoodie too hot for the September sun. "She (is) saying I need to watch the news. I guess I do."
As the six-month mark of the Clark shooting approaches on Tuesday, Knowles' lack of knowledge can be forgiven by the passage of several low-key summer months. The fierce tensions that grabbed headlines and made the city feel one wrong word away from mass violence in the spring have largely dissipated. Protests with crowds of hundreds shutting down
Like Carter and Knowles, most Sacramentans have stopped thinking of Clark on a regular basis, if they ever did at all.
The calm likely will not last, maybe not even through the week.
The recent shooting of another young black man,
At Thursday's
This week, the
"We (are) woke, all the way woke," said
He is pastor of a church in a converted bowling alley a few miles from where Clark lived and died, and one of the leaders of the protests and vigils that engulfed the city after Clark's shooting. "There is a waiting, built-up anger," he said. "That built up anger, we hear it, we feel it. You not only hear it in the faith community, you hear it in the community. You hear it in the high schools. You hear it it in the chatter when you walk around the streets, that there is no justice yet."
'No trust whatsoever'
Simmons and others said they are frustrated as much by what hasn't happened since Clark died as by what has.
Three days after Clark was shot, police released videos, including infrared footage of the moment of the shooting taken by a
Weeks later, the Clark family hired
Since then, little information has come out.
Police spokesman Sgt.
Though their staff can take part in interviews and other investigative steps, those legal assessments won't be completed until after the police finish -- and may do little to satisfy critics of the shooting. Under current case law, police officers have significant latitude when using deadly force.
"The very fact that these officers were immediately back on (duty) shows a great degree of confidence by the department that the officers acted appropriately legally and policy wise," said
Though long waits are usual in investigations of officer-involved shootings in
"Six months is too long for us to be past
Faison, Simmons and a core group of black activists have become a thorn in the foot of power when it comes to the Clark investigation, seeking to cause discomfort with every step the police and district attorney take. They said the tactic is necessary to keep Clark's case in the public eye and maintain pressure on the city and Schubert.
Faison has been the most visible in this effort. Three times a week for the past 27 weeks, she and a few dozen supporters have protested in front of the district attorney's office, calling for the two officers who shot Clark to be charged.
In the first weeks, protesters entered the lobby and surrounded cars in the parking lot. On
Faced with the barricade, Faison began hauling coolers and a portable grill to the sidewalk out front, turning the event into a block party with kids, music and persistence.
"We are not going away," said
Ross was speaking from a conference room with cerulean walls in the back of Simmons' sprawling church. Once a week, a half-dozen black activists meet here to plan ways to keep Clark relevant and remembered, and to strategize their push for greater police accountability and transparency. If Clark's name continues to be linked with that fight, it will largely be because of this group.
Ross said she became involved in police accountability the day after
"He matters and I want him to always know that," she said later. "These are his formative years and I refuse to allow this city and this nation to give him any message other than he matters and he's worthy."
The members of this group have not always been allies. Their goals are sometimes at odds. Faison advocates for an alternative to police, a position that has made her a divisive figure in the city and earned her frequent attacks from SPD Underground, a Facebook page that bills itself as a voice for
When Clark was shot, their divisions kept them from coming up with a unified position, said
"We can disagree on a lot of things, but it won't be a disagreement in the forefront of our people," said Accius. "We are going to stand with one core mission."
The smoke and the fire
That mission has evolved beyond law enforcement to a discussion of equity and economics.
"
Meadowview, where Clark lived, is poor. In his immediate neighborhood, a census tract of about 5,500 people, median household income is about
About 39 percent of its residents live below the poverty line, roughly double the county average. Single mothers are common. About 17 percent of households in the area are run by unmarried women with children, compared to 8 percent of households countywide. Nearly two-thirds of homes are rented, and only about 10 percent of adults 25 and older have a bachelor's degree.
Though it is often perceived as an
But the feeling among some black residents is they bear the brunt of the stigmas of place and poverty -- especially when it comes to policing. They want that to change.
"What we (have) been saying for year after year, just be fair," Meadowview resident
Jackson was standing in the parking lot of a
"Give everybody a fair shake. Don't stereotype everybody," said Jackson. "Every black man ain't dangerous."
If neighborhoods like Clark's corner of Meadowview continue to lack good schools, jobs and a fair share of services, the people who live in them will never have an equal chance at success, Simmons and others said. Beyond changes in policing, these deeper issues must be fixed, they said.
"We live here, we play here. This is our yard. We raise our kids here," said Simmons. "Not in 10 years, not in 20 years. Next year, the year after next, we have to see our community thrive."
The city's answer is Measure U, a tax initiative on the November ballot that would raise an existing half-cent sales tax to a full cent, with some of the money meant to be used to help places such as Meadowview.
Measure U was a temporary tax passed in 2012 to stave off dramatic cuts in core services like fire, police, parks and libraries during the recession. Its revenues are still critical to keep those departments at their current levels.
Raising it to a full penny was controversial among members of the
"It becomes another stroke of genius of exploiting (Clark's) death and utilizing it as a political piece," said Accius.
He supports Measure U, but calls it "a roll of the dice."
Steinberg, who is championing the measure, said he understands the mistrust but hopes his record on equity issues will garner some leeway. Now in his second year as mayor, he has brought a grant potentially worth nearly
For Measure U, he has met with activists and agreed a community oversight committee should be formed to monitor how the funds are used.
"Over the course of my long career I've earned trust, but I don't expect the community to trust. Those may seem contradictory, but I don't think they are. It's our job to follow through and embrace being accountable," Steinberg said. "None of it will be perfect. Measure U is not going to be a cure. It's not going to be the only thing, but I think it represents the biggest opportunity we've had to change generational poverty and trauma."
Take me to the King
Clark's grandmother,
The intensity of both the grief and attention overwhelmed her. Camera flashes reminded her of the flare of guns firing in her backyard. She worried her weak heart was going to give out, she said.
"We couldn't even grieve because everyone kept coming, coming over," she said last week from
Her mourning swings her from anguish to fury when she speaks of Clark. But she is religious, and often brings the conversation back to her belief that there is a higher purpose behind his death, and that her god is with her.
She saw it in burying Clark -- the second grandson she has lost to gun violence, she said.
In 2006, Clark's brother De'Markus McKinnie died of an accidental gunshot to the abdomen. Stevante Clark, the eldest sibling, wanted them buried near each other, said Thompson, but no plots were available at the cemetery. But Thompson had inadvertently purchased a double plot for McKinnie. Now the brothers lie one atop the other, under a headstone recently decorated with seashells and a Mylar birthday balloon tied to a box of candy to mark what would have been Clark's 23rd birthday on
"God always turns the bad into the good," she said.
On the night Clark was killed, Clark's 7-year-old sister was entertaining the household by singing a gospel hymn.
"I said, 'Poppa you're going to cry,'" she said. "Look at your sister."
Clark, nicknamed "Big Poppa" in his family, picked up the girl as she sang, "Take me to the king, I don't have much to bring. My heart is torn in pieces; it's my offering," said Thompson.
Clark did cry, she said. Soon after, he left.
"That is the last time we've seen him" she said.
Thompson returned Saturday to her Meadowview home where Clark was killed. She still can't go into her backyard, though
Her fight is not about politics, though she said she would like the officers who shot Clark to face charges and be removed from the force.
It's about honoring a young man she loved, and finding meaning inside this perpetual loss.
"I am going to keep fighting until the day I die. I'm going to be there, I am going to be at the protests and everything," she said. "He's not going to die in vain. My grandson's name is not going to die."
Our
This work has included interviews with people who live in Clark's south
We expanded the scope as the Clark story grew, diving into issues about equity in our neighborhoods, law enforcement transparency and police privacy laws in
The Bee has also used national, county and local data to give greater insight into Clark's neighborhood and
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